


All Things Considered

by emmagrant01



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Body Swap, Crowley gets a kitten, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Hand Job, Masturbation, Other, post-TV series canon, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: The world hadn’t ended and neither had they, but something had definitely changed.





	All Things Considered

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story, I’m assuming that Aziraphale and Crowley actually swapped bodies at the end of the series, rather than just taking on one another’s appearance.  
Thank you to Esterbrook for her comments on an earlier draft this story!

+++

The world hadn’t ended, for starters. They’d fooled both Heaven and Hell well enough to survive into the near future, at least. Now they were finally enjoying lunch at the Ritz, as Aziraphale had wanted to do for decades. 

Aziraphale had been chattering happily between bites for the last hour while Crowley lounged in his chair, champagne glass dangling between long fingers. He’d smiled, nodded, even occasionally laughed, but mostly he’d just listened, gazing serenely at Aziraphale.

It all felt very typical, or as typical as a meal could feel under the circumstances, except for one tiny, rather insignificant thing: their knees kept touching under the table.

That wasn’t exactly new, of course. They often dined in close quarters, and London restaurants did tend to pack people in tightly. It wasn’t as though Aziraphale had never touched Crowley in six thousand years, either. You know a demon that long, you’re going to brush up against him every now and then. 

No, the bit that was new was that each time Aziraphale’s knee bumped against Crowley’s knee under the table, he felt a jolt of something low in his belly, something he couldn’t place. The first few times were accidental, and he’d pulled away again as soon as he’d realized, almost apologetically. But then Crowley’d bumped him and hadn’t moved immediately away.

“It feels odd, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sputtered. The champagne nearly went down the wrong way. “S-sorry?”

“I mean, it’s been eleven years of thinking about it and now it’s just _over_. Not that long in the scheme of things, obviously, but it’s going to take me some time to relax.”

Ah. Right. “Yes, of course. I feel the same.” 

They paused while the server refilled their glasses. He was a handsome man, wearing a suit as perfectly tailored as his demeanor. He poured their champagne with a practiced grace that Aziraphale found entrancing. 

The server caught his gaze and smiled warmly. “Would you like something else, gentlemen?”

“I think another bottle, right, Angel?” Crowley pressed his knee even more firmly against Aziraphale’s. 

“Very good sir.”

Aziraphale watched the server walk away, needing to look anywhere but at Crowley for a moment. There was a warm sort of buzzing in his belly, a strange feeling, but not unpleasant. It was probably down to the alcohol. Heavens — they ‘d had quite a lot, hadn’t they? 

Crowley sat up in his chair when the server returned a couple of minutes later, breaking the connection. Aziraphale felt almost bereft at the feeling of damp coolness where Crowley’s knee used to be. 

Honestly, how maudlin of him. Aziraphale picked up his newly filled glass and smiled at Crowley over the rim. The emotions of the last few days were finally catching up to him, most likely. The champagne probably didn’t help. He resolved to think nothing more of it.

+++

Two days later and very sober, he sat across from Crowley in a small cafe a few streets away from the bookshop, enjoying a frothy sweet coffee drink and a chocolate croissant. 

“Do you really think so?” 

Crowley shrugged and took a sip from his own cup. “I don’t reckon there’s much point right now. Might as well keep a low profile.”

“Well, I’m hardly going to complain about you taking a break from tempting humans to sin, but won’t you be terribly bored?”

Crowley smiled and leaned back in his seat. Under the table, his knee pressed against Aziraphale’s and— _oh_. Aziraphale stuffed a bite of pastry into his mouth to cover the small sound that rose from his throat. What in heaven’s name _was_ that? It felt almost intimate. The thought made his cheeks warm. 

Aziraphale took a sip of coffee and tried to collect himself. “Well, what will you do then? To keep yourself busy?”

“I dunno. Could take a long nap, I s’pose. Or go for a drive across Europe, see how the car is really doing.” He sat up straighter and his knee retreated. 

Aziraphale forced himself to keep smiling pleasantly. The idea of Crowley disappearing from his life for any substantial length of time was oddly disconcerting. In the past, they’d gone centuries without meeting each other at all, but it was difficult to imagine going even a few days without seeing Crowley now. 

_Honestly_. Aziraphale knew better than to let himself get attached to a demon, of all beings.

“Or maybe,” Crowley said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I’ll just hang around the bookshop and take the piss out of you all day every day.”

“Foul creature.” Aziraphale couldn’t stop his lips from twisting up into a smile. “I’ll have you running errands for me within a week.”

Crowley laughed softly. “I’d like to see you try.” His tone was light, not remotely menacing. He smiled at Aziraphale for a long moment, then his expression changed completely, as if he’d suddenly remembered he had something unpleasant to do. 

“I’d probably be bored out of my mind after an hour, though, and you likely want some quality time with your books after everything that’s happened.” He drained his cup and pushed back from the table. “I ought to leave you to it.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale cast around for something, anything to say that would stop him from leaving. Every reason seemed flimsy, though. “You must have things to do as well. Your plants, for instance? What will you do with them if you leave?”

“They’ll do perfectly well without me, if they know what’s good for them.” 

“I could look in on them, you know.”

“You’d just spoil them.” Crowley seemed to be trying not to smile. “They’d be insufferable about it. Have to throw out the lot.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided. “Still, do let me know of your plans.” 

“I suppose I could swing by in the next day or so. If I don’t get caught up in something.”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale felt a surge of relief that there was going to be a plan to meet again. “I hope you will. A few interesting bottles seem to have appeared in the cellar, and I’ve been meaning to sample them.”

“Sounds lovely.” Crowley smiled, then seemed to think the better of it. He frowned rather pointedly. “No promises, though. Later, Angel.” 

“Goodbye.” Aziraphale’s eyes were drawn to the way Crowley’s hips moved as he slinked towards the door of the cafe. He’d always walked like that, almost snakelike, but something about it today seemed especially fascinating. He vanished from sight with a jingle of bells from the doorway. Aziraphale turned his attention back to the pastry in front of him. 

Something about the conversation had felt… off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

He picked up the last bite of pastry, but someone bumped him from behind and it tumbled to the floor. The person seemed not to have noticed, and even stepped on the sad remains as they walked by.

“Oh, fuck me,” Aziraphale grumbled. 

His eyes widened instantly. He pressed his lips together, cheeks flaming. Where the devil had that come from?

+++

For the first century of its existence, Crowley had found the bookshop endlessly boring. It was good to know he could almost always find Aziraphale when he wanted, of course, but he tended not to stay long. Books were among the most boring of human inventions, and the ones the angel collected were mind-numbingly dull. Historical treatises, classical literature, _romance_ — sure, he had a few copies of occult books, but none Crowley found interesting. Even the erotic literature left him yawning. And why did humans have such difficulty calling genitals by their proper names? 

That said, the bookshop had grown on him in the last few decades. He wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking of it in a way that resembled fond, but loath as he was to admit it, he rather enjoyed being there now. There was a strange amount of comfort in that large squashy sofa and the smell of dusty books, and the warm, familiar presence of Aziraphale everywhere.

Oh, what the everloving _fuck_, not again. 

He forced himself to think of all the ways Aziraphale annoyed him. His clothes were always a good place to start. His hair. His cheery disposition in the face of every circumstance, good or bad. The fact that he never admitted that he was wrong, about anything. That he had a stubborn streak a mile wide, yet pretended he was the most accommodating creature that had ever existed. 

Crowley took a deep and unnecessary breath through his nose, annoyance flowing through him now. Much better.

The shop’s sign was flipped to ‘closed,’ but the door gave a warm shiver when he pressed a hand to it. It swung open with a welcoming creak. The sun was still bright even at this late hour, but the shop was dark inside. A century ago, Aziraphale had talked all the windows into letting in very little sunlight, for the protection of the books. And books, there were, squeezed into every inch of shelf space and stacked on every available surface. It wasn’t just books, either: there were papers and old vinyl records and magazines and pamphlets, nearly every form of written or spoken human word one could imagine. Crowley’d been tempted on more than one occasion to direct a few stern words at the clutter, but Aziraphale would have made a mess of it all again within a month. 

Straightening the place up would definitely annoy him, though. The thought made Crowley smile. 

“Angel?” he called, picking his way through a particularly cluttered row towards the back of the shop, where a light appeared to be on. He rounded a corner to see Aziraphale rummaging through an open cupboard.

It was as ordinary a scene as one could see, nothing exciting about it. And yet, Crowley’s innards did an odd little shimmer at the sight of him. 

He clenched his jaw and looked down at the floor instead.

“Crowley, my dear!” The exuberance in Aziraphale’s voice drew his attention upwards again. “I was hoping you’d stop by. In fact, I’ve got a bottle of wine set aside just for the occasion.” Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley was rooted to the spot.

“Yes,” he managed after a long, awkward moment. He nodded toward the sofa behind him. “I’ll just…” 

He had to get a grip on himself. It had been this way for a solid week now, and it was getting worse all the time. He’d look at Aziraphale, or even just think about him, and these _feelings_ would come out of nowhere.

Crowley didn’t do feelings. He was a demon, and he was incapable of feeling like _that_, about anyone. He’d spent six thousand years catering to his own self-interest and he wasn’t going to go putting anyone else ahead of that now, least of all an angel. Even if that angel was his best friend. His soft-voiced, sweet-smiling, constant companion through history, whose eyes— 

No. Nope, stopping right there. Satan bless it, he needed that drink.

He forced himself to scowl as Aziraphale came out from the kitchen with a bottle and two glasses. He frowned as the wine was poured, resisting a bizarre urge to say thank you. He didn’t even take a moment to appreciate the wine properly, just took a big sip and set the glass down again. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was an angry, terrible demon, not at all nice or grateful, or anything of the sort.

“Oh, this is a lovely vintage,” Aziraphale said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Crowley replied, reaching for his glass again. “And it just appeared in the cellar? How delightff—fuck!”

“Are you all right, dear?”

Crowley pressed his hands to his face. “Yes. No. Nnnnghh.” He dropped his hands and sank into the cushions behind him. “I haven’t been feeling well, that’s all.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear it. You look fantastic, though. Oh, goodness, I mean — just that you look completely normal, of course. Healthy, or as healthy as a demon can look. As you look. Which is very… good.” Aziraphale took a large sip of wine, as if he were trying to stop himself from talking.

Crowley sighed. “Maybe I should get some rest. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Really? That’s not like you, is it?”

Crowley shrugged. He could usually fall asleep at a moment’s notice. He’d decide it was time, change into something decadent, climb into his obscenely comfortable bed, and drop right off. But every time he’d tried lately, he’d just tossed and turned. It was deeply unsatisfying.

“I’ve never gone in for sleeping myself, but you seem so fond of it that I’ve been thinking of giving it a try.”

Crowley turned to look at him. “I’ve been suggesting it to you for ages.” 

Aziraphale shrugged. “You must enjoy it for a reason.”

Crowley felt a small blip in his chest at the thought of Aziraphale trying something Crowley liked, just because he liked it. “I do. Do you even have a place to sleep? A bed?”

“I suppose I could miracle one up.”

“I could do it for you.” He could see it all in his head — a large, soft mattress with a white duvet and far too many fluffy pillows. “I think I know exactly what you’d like.”

The corner of Aziraphale’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Yes, I imagine you do.” 

Crowley blinked at him. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he looked away. 

“I just mean that your expertise in this matter would be greatly appreciated.” He studied the contents of his wine glass for a long, awkward moment.

“Yeah, all right,” Crowley said, frowning. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. “Shall I, then?” He gestured towards the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“Now? Oh!” Aziraphale fidgeted a bit, then nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Aziraphale followed him up the stairs, but stayed in the doorway while Crowley produced a large dreamy bed with a wave of his hand. It looked like a cloud when he was finished, definitely fitting for an angel. For his angel.

He clenched his jaw. _Fuck_, not again. He really had to get hold of himself. 

A voice at the back of his mind chuckled at the obvious innuendo, and Crowley relaxed. That was more like it.

“That’s,” Aziraphale began, then hesitated. “Might you have overdone it, a bit?”

“Nope.” Crowley turned to grin at him. “Trust me, you’re going to like this a lot.”

“So you just lie there and…”

“Close your eyes, let your mind drift, and fall asleep. The trick is to not let yourself think of anything in particular.”

Aziraphale made a skeptical sound. Crowley’s mind filled with the image of Aziraphale lying in the middle of all that softness, eyes closed and lips curled into a contented smile. Happy, because of Crowley.

Crowley stifled a groan. Fighting this was exhausting, and every minute he spent here made it worse. “I’m feeling a bit tired myself, so I think I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh. All right.” There was a note of disappointment in Aziraphale’s tone.

Something twisted in Crowley’s chest at the thought of having disappointed Aziraphale. All the more reason to go, before he said something he’d really regret. He left Aziraphale staring at his new bed and headed home to his own. Maybe a good night’s sleep would get all of this out of his system.

He encouraged the bookshop door to lock itself behind him, then walked down the street to where he’d parked. A young couple walked past him, giggling together and holding hands. They looked happy, very much in love. Crowley smiled at them.

_No._

No, no, that was not the appropriate reaction at all! He stopped and clenched his hands into fists, then stared up at the dark sky in defiance. “_Ngggaahhh!_” 

A few rubbish bins rattled and a small dog barked, but his demonic rage hadn’t so much as broken a window. He pressed his hands over his face. 

Something was very, very wrong with him.

The Bentley felt tense as he settled into the familiar leather seat, so at least there was that. He grasped the wheel with both hands, making his intentions known, but nothing happened. He frowned.

“Oi, let’s go.”

Nothing. The Bentley was eerily quiet. Was she refusing to start because she was cross with him? He had put her through literal hell of late, he supposed.

He sighed and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. “I just want to go home and sleep for a week. Is that too much to ask?”

The car gave a slight shudder, as if it had briefly considered starting the engine, then changed its mind again. 

Anger built up inside Crowley’s chest. Tough love, then. It wasn’t as if it was the first time he’d had to hold a firm line with this car.

“Right,” he began, then he heard a sound. It was high-pitched and shrieky, and coming from… beneath the car? He listened, waited. There it was again.

He opened the door and looked around the street before getting out. There weren’t many people about, and certainly none close enough to have made the sound. He knelt down and peered underneath the car. A pair of glowing eyes stared back at him. His first thought was that it was another demon, here to take matters into their own hands. It didn’t look like a demon, though — far too small. It blinked, and then made the sound again.

“_Mew_.”

Crowley gasped. “Hellooo there,” he said softly, reaching under the car. His hand wrapped around a ball of warm fluff. It got in a good scratch before he managed to get it out from under the car, but that didn’t bother him. He stood, holding it against his chest with one hand, and looked down. The small black kitten stared up at him with huge yellow eyes. She mewed again, seemed to contemplate him for a moment, then closed her eyes and settled comfortably against his chest.

“Oh no,” he said, grimacing. He’d been _chosen_. He’d bet anything the Bentley was in on it. Probably payback for the driving-through-hellfire thing.

He scratched the top of the kitten’s head and she purred. Dammit, he had no resistance to her kittenish wiles. Cats were evil little creatures, luring you in with their sweet appearance. But once they’d picked you, you were done for. 

She must be exceptionally evil to have snagged him so quickly. He was genuinely impressed. 

He held her up at eye level and glared at her. “I’ll take you with me, but it’s just for one night. Scratch me again and I’ll toss you out the window.”

“_Mew_,” she replied, apparently not impressed with his threat.

He got in the car again, and the Bentley’s engines roared to life, sounding almost smug.

“Yes, fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s get on with it.”

He had to miracle up some food for the kitten, then spent a solid hour online reading about how to care for a cat. She kept walking across the keyboard of his laptop the entire time, managing to open adverts with obnoxiously loud videos —something Crowley’d had a hand in inventing, to his current annoyance— and head-butting his hands away from the keys. Then she had a pee in the middle of the floor.

“Oh, you’re a very bad cat, aren’t you?” he said, trying his best to keep the admiration from his voice. She looked up at him with big round eyes, innocent as anything. He’d used that same expression on Aziraphale more times than he could count. He was already starting to like her.

He miracled up the rest of what they’d need for the time being, including a small cat bed. He placed her in it with a very firm instruction to stay, or else suffer a horrible fate.

He’d been in his own bed for four minutes when he heard the sound of tiny claws climbing up the duvet. Little kitten feet walked up the length of him, finding every tender spot he had with astonishing accuracy. She finally settled onto his pillow, right next to his head. She licked his cheek with her raspy tongue, then curled up, her back pressed against his ear.

This shouldn’t be allowed. He should get up right now and take her back to her own bed, then close the door of his bedroom. He absolutely should. Manipulative wee demon spawn that she was, she began to purr, radiating smug contentment. 

Well, shit. He’d just fallen for the oldest cat trick in the book. And honestly, he wasn’t even upset about it.

Something was definitely wrong.

+++

Crowley woke up with a faceful of fur. 

“What the fff—” He sat up, spitting bits of fuzz. He glared down at the kitten. “Oi, you. That was just for one night. You’re not allowed on my bed any more.” 

She blinked smugly at him. She knew his weaknesses already, damn her.

He made a strong cup of coffee while she circled his ankles, trying her best to trip him. He finally caught on that her food bowl was empty and filled it, which bought him a few minutes’ peace. 

He supposed it would be good to keep her around for a bit longer. Cats were appropriately demonic, at least. Not as evil as ferrets, but far preferable to dogs. Heaven was overflowing with dogs, according to Aziraphale. Crowley shuddered at the thought.

Aziraphale was going to love her. The mere idea of him cuddling this tiny furry demon, being completely taken in by her sweet little face, filled Crowley with equal pats evil glee and giddiness. 

He needed to think of a good name. All the really evil-sounding ones just made him think of demons he despised. Others were too reminiscent of “evil” characters in occult films. Yet others were too twee to bear thinking about. 

He’d known some truly interesting humans, though. He sifted through his memories, then settled on one in particular: a woman he’d met in Paris in the 1920s, a nightclub singer and spectacularly talented con artist. She’d had dark hair, green eyes, a brilliant mind, and the kind of beauty that turned men into putty in her hands. He looked down at the kitten, who watched him like she was reading his mind. 

Yes, Nina suited her just fine. 

“Nina,” he said a moment later when she climbed up his leg with her tiny claws. “That fucking hurts. Ow, you little shit.” 

She beamed at him, then made biscuits on his thigh while he gritted his teeth. She looked up at him with eyes that were somehow simultaneously innocent and omniscient.

Oh, she was _good_. He let her sit on his lap for several minutes out of sheer respect.

She hopped down soon after, off to scheme against him, no doubt. He took his coffee into the atrium. His plants all stood at attention, holding their leaves out for morning inspection. 

“Ooh, very nice,” he said, stroking the broad mottled leaf of a particularly sturdy dieffenbachia. “Well done you.” A nearby dracaena leaned in a bit, hoping to be noticed. He grasped one of its long leaves between his fingers. “What fantastic color.” The plectranthus actually grew a good three inches right in front of him, making him gasp. “You’re all doing so well and—”

Wait.

“What the FUCK?” He dashed his coffee cup to the floor. It knew better than to break or even spill a drop, so it landed gently upright on a nearby table.

Crowley screamed in frustration.

This was Aziraphale’s fault. It had to be. Less than a day inhabiting Crowley’s body and he’d done something so good and decent that he’d left a mark Crowley couldn’t expunge. 

There was only one thing to do about it. 

+++

Aziraphale was performing with a circus troupe. Somehow, this didn’t seem as odd as it should have done. The elephants kept changing into polar bears, which was a bit disturbing, but no one else seemed to pay it any mind. 

“You’re up next,” someone said, giving him a great shove from behind. A bright spotlight caught him, and he squinted. The crowd cheered, the sound of it oppressively close. He couldn’t see them though; all he could see was the large cage he was walking towards. A gate opened and he walked through. The crowd roared even louder. He had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

The announcer began to speak, his voice echoing around the arena. Or possibly tent. Tents didn’t echo, but what little Aziraphale could see beyond the cage appeared very tent-like. None of this mattered, however, because in the cage with him was an enormous black panther.

“Oh dear lord.” Aziraphale suddenly remembered that this was his act: to tame the panther. He swallowed down his fear and reached into his pockets.

He tried a card trick first. The panther rolled its eyes, unimpressed. He pulled a long colored scarf from his nose, which tickled enough to make him sneeze. The panther smiled a little. He produced a large gold coin from behind the panther’s ear.

“Oh, come on, Angel, you can do better than that.” It somehow wasn’t a surprise that the panther spoke with Crowley’s voice. This happened every time, apparently. 

“I’m trying,” Aziraphale replied quietly. “Oh bother, I forgot my hat.” He couldn’t well pull a rabbit from his pocket.

“You could pull it out of your arse,” the panther said, grinning wickedly. It had Crowley’s eyes. “That’d make them cheer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale said, but he unfastened his trousers all the same. He dropped them to the ground and the panther stalked forward, licking its lips. The crowd gasped in terror.

“Do get on with it, dear.”

“Happy to,” Crowley said, now Crowley-shaped and dressed only in tight leather trousers. His hair fell to his shoulders and there was a dusting of something sparkly over his chest and arms. He knelt before Aziraphale and took his cock into his mouth. 

Aziraphale gasped and clenched fingers in his hair. Crowley’s mouth was warm and wet, and even though it had just started, Aziraphale was already very close to finishing. The crowd cheered wildly. Crowley looked up at him and winked.

Aziraphale opened his eyes. It was a moment before he realized where he was: in a soft cloud of a bed, in the room above his bookshop.

“What in the world?” His mortal brain was foggy, still somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He still felt unsettled, tense, like there was something he desperately needed. Flashes of Crowley on his knees flooded his mind, and there was a twinge at his groin, a feeling that he hadn’t felt in a while.

He looked down. There was a small tent in the duvet. (Not _that_ small. Regular-sized. Possibly above average. Anyway.) Aziraphale groaned and closed his eyes again. He dropped his head back to the pillow, then reached under the duvet.

Yes, he’d somehow manifested a cock overnight, and it was… well. Erect was maybe not quite the word. It was _leaking_, for one thing, and very sensitive to touch. It had been a long, long time since he’d indulged in this sort of physical pleasure, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to finish himself off from here. No reason not to, really. It was the most efficient way to get rid of it at this point, at least without wasting a miracle.

He wrapped his fingers around it and stroked, and _oh_. He’d forgotten that it also felt very good. 

He’d intended to get it done quickly, but once he got started, taking his time seemed a good idea. He stroked slowly, slicked his hand with his own saliva, and set about relearning what he liked. He tried not to think about the dream, but it kept coming back to him: Crowley on his knees, his mouth around Aziraphale’s cock, his long wicked tongue doing filthy things while he smirked up at Aziraphale. 

He imagined sliding fingers into Crowley’s hair, holding his head still and fucking into his mouth. Crowley would probably like that, would like being used that way. He’d move slowly at first, pushing in deep, then quick, shallow thrusts when he got close. Crowley in his mind stared up at him, begging for more, wanting.

Aziraphale came into his own hand with a muffled cry.

He lay there for half a minute, basking in the feeling, until reality caught up with him.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling in horror. What on earth was happening to him? 

It couldn’t be the sleeping. He’d slept before, though rarely, and though he’d experienced dreams, none of them had ever been quite like that.

Crowley had created the bed, and it was possible he’d imbued with with traces of demonic wickedness or lust. That wasn’t Crowley’s style, though. He was much more straightforward with his temptations.

And as much as he’d been trying to ignore it, this was hardly the first time in the last week that Aziraphale had had these kinds of thoughts about Crowley. He’d tried to push them out of his mind, but when he was near Crowley or touched him, or even simply thought about him, the thoughts would rush back in. 

He’d been fond of Crowley for centuries. Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. He loved Crowley, had done for a while now, and not just with that generic angelic love for all of God’s creatures. He wanted to be near him and share food and wine with him, to do things to make him laugh or smile. He wanted to sit quietly with him on rainy afternoons, maybe cuddle together under a blanket on chilly evenings. Hold his hand. Kiss him.

And apparently engage in oral sex with him, if this dream was any indication. That part was definitely new. He’d had these physical feelings for the last few days, though, ever since—

He sat straight up in bed. Since they exchanged bodies to fool Heaven and Hell. Crowley must have done something to him, left some lingering traces of sinful feelings in his body. How dare he sully this form given to Aziraphale by— well, by the Antichrist, Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, etc., to be perfectly honest. But Adam had turned out to be a fairly good human, in the end, so Aziraphale was reasonably confident this wasn’t his fault. 

No, this was entirely Crowley’s doing. Crowley, whom Aziraphale had known and trusted for millennia, who was Aziraphale’s best friend and who looked so damnably good in those tight pants he’d taken to wearing in the last century or so— 

Aziraphale picked up a fluffy white pillow, held it to his face, and screamed.

+++

Crowley stalked down the pavement toward the bookshop. The Bentley had nearly shrunk away from his touch when he’d opened the door this morning, but she’d started on command, apparently sensing that this was not a day he’d tolerate anything but instant compliance. Even Nina had hissed at him as he left the flat, disapproval radiating from her tiny body.

He was absolutely going to let Aziraphale have it. The more he thought about the whole thing, the angrier he got. Violating him that way when he could do nothing about it! It was downright _demonic_, really. Under other circumstances, he might even have been proud of him, just for the sheer balls of it all. 

He crossed the street, throwing up a hand to stop a car that would’ve smashed into him otherwise, and marched right up to the door of the shop.

Before he could do so much as reach for it, the door swung open. Aziraphale stood there, his expression filled with the most righteous indignation Crowley had ever seen.

“You!” Aziraphale spat, glaring at him. “Just the demon I was hoping to find this morning.”

“Is that so?” Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on then, but better make it good. I’m not particularly inclined to accept your apology.”

“Apology?” Aziraphale looked flabbergasted. “You’re the one who should apologize!”

Passersby were staring at them, no doubt assuming this was some sort of lovers’ spat. Crowley couldn’t care less. “You know what? I don’t even want an apology. I just want you to make it stop.”

“Make what stop?”

“Whatever you did to me. End it now, or I swear, Angel—”

“What I did to _you_?” Aziraphale shook his head, incredulous. “You’re the one who left all these _feelings_ in me. You’re the one who needs to end whatever you did.”

“I did nothing to you! You’re imagining things.”

“Don’t even— I’ve never been like this, in six thousand years. The only thing that changed was having you inside me.”

Two young women walking past the shop burst into giggles at this.

“You— what do you mean, been like what?”

Aziraphale waved a hand around himself. “All this… lustful energy. It’s leaking everywhere, won’t give me a moment’s peace.”

“Oh, honestly, get a grip. You could use a little lust in your life.”

“I’m an angel” Aziraphale spat. “I’m not supposed to feel lust. Get rid of it.”

“I didn’t put it there, Angel. If you’re feeling lusty, that’s all you.”

Aziraphale looked for a moment like he was going to explode. He took a step backward and slammed the door right in Crowley’s face.

“Oh no you did not,” Crowley said, and reached for the handle. The door refused to budge. Honestly, as if that would stop him. Crowley imagined himself on the other side of the door, and then he was.

“I don’t want you here,” Aziraphale said, still stalking his way to the back of the shop.

“Too fucking bad. You still have to answer for what you did to me.”

Aziraphale made a noise of frustration and whirled to face him. “I don’t know what you’re on about, I really don’t.” 

“Well, I’ll fill you in, shall I? I’ve been smiling at people walking down the street, for no reason. That’s not normal, Angel.” 

“Not normal? I _slept_ last night, and I enjoyed it!” As if this were a scandalous statement.

“I got teary-eyed looking at a fucking CocaCola advert.”

“I cursed twelve times yesterday. Twelve!”

“I’ve been so nice to my plants that they’re getting suspicious.”

Aziraphale took a threatening step toward Crowley. “I get angry at every little thing! You know that’s not like me at all.”

Crowley stepped forward too, not one to be intimidated by an angel, of all things. “I keep thinking about your stupid _hair_ and how much I want to touch it.”

“Oh really? I can’t be within three feet of you without thinking impure thoughts.” 

“Well, I… I got a kitten!”

“I masturbated thinking about you!”

Crowley said, “Wait, you what?” at the same time as Aziraphale said, “You got a kitten?” 

“Yes, her name is Nina and she’s adorable, not the point. You _wanked_ thinking about me?”

Aziraphale looked up at him, blue eyes wide. His anger seemed to drain away, replaced by genuine distress. “Not on purpose. It just sort of… well, I had a very naughty dream about you, then woke up with a—” He gestured vaguely at his groin. 

Crowley smirked. “I wager you’d have a lot of dreams like that if you actually slept more often.”

“What makes you think I’d dream of you? That was just because of your demonic interference.”

Crowley made a sound of intense frustration. “I haven’t interfered with anything! Come on, Angel, you’ve been looking at me like that for decades.”

Aziraphale took a step back, his expression shocked. “What are you implying?”

“You’ve wanted me for ages. It’s been completely obvious. Your body’s just finally catching on.”

Aziraphale’s face crumpled. 

Crowley felt his stomach plummet down to somewhere near his knees. He hadn’t meant to say anything like that at all. He couldn’t take it back though, could only watch helplessly as Aziraphale’s face began to twist with a mix of pain and fury.

“Get out,” he said, voice low and tight in a way Crowley hadn’t heard in a thousand years, and never directed at himself, “before I send you somewhere very unpleasant indeed.” 

“Angel—” 

“OUT.” 

Crowley vanished himself away without another word. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the Bentley, hands gripping the steering wheel as if his life depended on it. 

He’d fucked that up rather spectacularly. He’d have to lay low for a while, give Aziraphale a chance to cool off before he tried to apologize. He was familiar with the sort of low-level despair that accompanied these moments, but this time it _hurt_ to think about how angry Aziraphale was with him. Regret burned inside him, rough and acidic, and he didn’t know how to make it go away. It sat there, getting bigger and more terrible in his chest with every minute that passed. Tears welled in his eyes, and he wiped them away as angrily as he could manage.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Demons did not cry, especially not about getting into quarrels with their… with other… _others_. This was something Aziraphale had done to him —perhaps unintentionally, he was willing to grant— but it wasn’t Crowley’s fault. 

He had no idea what to do about it, though.

+++

Crowley drove. 

He’d been driving for days, possibly weeks now. He had no idea where he was — somewhere in midwestern America, maybe? He’d wanted to be far away from London, somewhere he could drive fast for hours and see nothing, and then he’d found himself here. The sun had set and risen a number of times and he’d just kept going, past cornfields, small towns, bizarre roadside attractions, and endless stretches of interstate. He drove, and he didn’t think, just kept his mind as blank as possible. 

Before cars were invented, this sort of mindless catharsis was hard to come by. He’d once got himself lost in the Himalayas for months, just trekked all around until he’d got it out of his system. Another time he’d vanished himself to an unpopulated tropical island for two years. That one had been rather nice, now that he thought about it. 

Out of nowhere, a huge semi-trailer truck roared across the intersection in front of him, completely ignoring a stop sign. Crowley closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel tight, imagining the Bentley passing right through it, emerging unscratched on the other side. 

The Bentley screeched to a halt on the other side of the intersection. The roar of the truck’s engines faded into the distance. Crowley opened his eyes and stared down at himself. He appeared to be perfectly fine. He took a deep breath and released it, slowly. 

The last thing he needed was to get discorporated, especially considering the current state of affairs. No telling what he’d have to do to get another body. Aziraphale would be so cross with him.

_Aziraphale_. 

Crowley had carefully avoided thinking about their argument since he’d left, but now it flooded his mind: every word spoken, every gesture, every unwanted emotion. The way they’d both been so convinced it was the other’s fault. Clarity struck then, and he groaned into his hands. 

Time to go home.

He was back in London with a concentrated thought, stuck in traffic on Charing Cross Road. 

+++

Aziraphale opened the door of Crowley’s flat with a touch. Crowley wasn’t there, as he hadn’t been for nearly a week now. 

“Hello?” he called as he walked through the flat. 

A small ball of fur trotted toward him, mewling.

“Hello, darling.” He reached down to scratch her behind the ears. She looked up at him and mewed again, plaintively. “No, my sweet, I don’t know where he is. May I?” She blinked in response and he plucked her up, tucked her against his chest. 

Her food and water bowls were full, as usual. At least Crowley had seen to that before pulling his vanishing act. Aziraphale swallowed down an impulse of irritation. It was hardly the first time Crowley had disappeared after they’d quarreled. He always turned up again, often a few years later, though he usually pretended as if nothing had happened. In the past, Aziraphale had simply rolled his eyes and moved on, confident in the knowledge that the demon was —pardon his language— utter shit at handling emotional conflict. 

This time felt different, though. Crowley seemed to be struggling with new, big emotions he wasn’t sure how to manage. Aziraphale hoped he’d return sooner rather than later. 

“He’ll be back soon, Nina dear.” He scratched the kitten behind the ears, and she closed her eyes in a cat-smile.

He headed to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, then to the atrium, his favorite place in the flat. He’d miracled up a comfortable chair days ago, a perfect spot to sit and read. The plants quivered with excitement when he walked in. He smiled, touched their leaves with his free hand, then settled in the chair. Nina curled into a small fluffy ball on his lap while the vines yearned toward Aziraphale’s presence. He’d mist them all later; right now he simply wanted to be in this space that felt so much like Crowley.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed. He’d spent the last week focusing on integrating these new feelings into his corporeal form. They didn’t seem to be going away, no matter how much he tried to ignore them, so he’d decided it best to embrace the human adage, ‘If you can’t beat them, join them.’ It had probably helped that Crowley was away, to be brutally honest. Aziraphale hadn’t been able to think clearly in his presence since the not-apocalypse, for reasons he mostly understood now. Of course, he wouldn’t know for sure until Crowley returned.

He’d tried Crowley’s mobile, had even left several messages. When Crowley hadn’t replied for more than a day, Aziraphale had decided to check the flat. He’d met Nina immediately —she was worried sick that her human hadn’t returned— and he’d come every day since. Nina appreciated the company and the plants were flourishing. He hoped that Crowley would appreciate his efforts. Eventually.

He was just getting to the good part of his novel when the plants began to shiver around him. Nina opened her eyes and looked up, ears perked toward the front door.

There was a shift of air pressure as the door opened, followed by the sounds of expensive shoes clicking across the concrete floor. 

Aziraphale remained quiet, not sure if he should announce his presence.

The footsteps stilled. “Angel?”

“In here.” 

Crowley appeared in the doorway within a minute. He looked uncharacteristically bedraggled: hair mussed, sunglasses slightly askew, clothes wrinkled. He gave Aziraphale an appraising look, but he didn’t seem surprised to see him there.

Aziraphale’s heart soared at the sight of him. He wanted to touch him, hug him tightly, possibly yell at him for being such an obstinate arse. That last one wasn’t particularly angelic, but Aziraphale no longer minded. 

“Dear boy, are you all right?” 

Crowley took off the sunglasses, folded them, then tucked them into a pocket. “Almost got discorporated somewhere in Oklahoma. Made me think.”

“I imagine it did.” Neither of them knew what discorporation would mean for them now. The thought was worrisome. 

Crowley nodded toward Aziraphale’s lap. “I knew she’d like you better than me.” 

As if on cue, Nina stood up, stretched, and hopped down to pad over to where Crowley stood. She twined around his ankles, purring.

Aziraphale set his book aside. “She’s very sweet.”

“She’s not; she’s evil incarnate.” Crowley picked her up and snuggled her under his chin. The sight of it made something clench in Aziraphale’s chest. “She smells like you.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing.” Crowley looked up. His eyes met Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale took a steadying breath, then stood and took a step closer to Crowley. “You understand what happened, don’t you?”

Crowley shrugged and set the kitten on the floor again. “I think so. We left traces of ourselves in each other’s bodies, probably aided by exposure to holy water and hellfire. And there’s not much we can do about it now.”

“Is it so terrible?” Aziraphale tilted his head. 

“Do we have a choice?” 

“I don’t mind now that I’ve had a chance to get used to it.”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m not supposed to be nice and caring, Angel, not even a bit. I’m a demon.”

“And I’m not supposed to want to push you down onto your ludicrously extravagant bed and fuck you, but here we are.” 

Crowley’s mouth fell open, and it was a moment before he was able to form a sentence. “You… you _what_?”

“Among other things.” Aziraphale smiled as casually as he could manage, enjoying Crowley’s look of pure shock. “I must admit it’s been freeing to be able to be angry now and then. And to be able to say so in no uncertain terms, without feeling guilty about it.” 

“Angel—”

“I’d read that swearing is actually good for you, that it helps one release negative energy. After the last week, I think there’s some truth to that.”

“Sorry, can we go back to the bit about you wanting to fuck me?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “That’s the bit you’d fixate on, of course.”

“Do you mean you literally fucking me, or sex in general?” Crowley looked as if he’d been hit over the head with something particularly blunt. It was charming. 

Aziraphale moved closer and placed the palms of his hands on Crowley’s chest. He’d considered the options in the last few days. There were so many possibilities, and he frankly wanted to try them all. He looked up at Crowley, not even trying to disguise the desire he knew must show on his face.

“Anything you want, my dear.” Goodness, was that _his_ voice, so low and sultry? 

Crowley stared at him, his pupils round and black against the gold of his irises. His gaze flickered down to Aziraphale’s lips and back up again. He seemed unable to decide what to do next. 

Aziraphale took pity on him and leaned in first. It was a sweet, soft kiss, just a gentle press of lips for a long moment before they pulled away again. Aziraphale looked up at him again, an unspoken question in his eyes: _do you want me the way I want you?_

“Anything I want,” Crowley repeated, and kissed him again. This was a completely different sort of kiss, full of promise and desire and raw need. Aziraphale felt it all the way down to his toes, which were the only bit of him touching the floor at the moment. Crowley’s hands pressed into his lower back, pulling their bodies together. Aziraphale was sure he’d never felt anything quite like that before. 

He wondered what it would feel like if there was nothing between them. 

“You sure?” Crowley said into his mouth, the words vibrating against his tongue.

He pulled away long enough to say, “Please,” then dove in to kiss Crowley some more.

Several dizzying minutes, or possibly a week passed before they parted again.

“So was that ‘yes’ in general or ‘yes’ right now?” Crowley’s mouth worked its way down Aziraphale’s neck, and _oh_, how did that feel so good?

“Yes, yes, now yes.” Aziraphale couldn’t string together a proper sentence now if he tried. He tugged at Crowley’s jacket. “Off.”

“Okay, yeah.” Crowley shrugged out of it, dropped it to the ground. He stared back at Aziraphale, waiting.

Aziraphale had a moment of _this is real, this is actually happening_. He’d thought about this, wanted it for far longer than he was willing to admit, and now here Crowley was, letting himself be inexpertly seduced. 

Aziraphale knew all about lovemaking in theory. Obviously he’d seen sex in action — one couldn’t avoid it over six thousand years of observing human behavior. He’d also read nearly every erotic novel every published, so he knew how the fantasy version of this was meant to go: they would undress each other as slowly as possible, relishing each new inch of revealed skin, starting from the top and saving the most intimate bits for last.

The desire showing on Crowley’s face stirred something low in Aziraphale’s body. To hell with romance. He reached for the button of Crowley’s jeans.

“Angel,” Crowley said, and stilled his hands. Aziraphale swallowed down a flash of fear that he’d done it wrong already. “We shouldn’t do this in front of the plants.”

“The… what?”

“Come on.” He took Aziraphale’s hand and pulled him out of the room.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said when he realized where they were going. A bed would be much more comfortable anyway. 

He stopped in the doorway, watching as Crowley backed up to the bed, stripping off his clothes. He did it efficiently, fluidly, eyes on Aziraphale the entire time. He was beautiful, just as Aziraphale had imagined he would be with his long body and sculpted limbs. Even his cock was long, half-hard and dark against the pale skin of his thighs. Aziraphale forced his gaze upwards, following a trail of hair up to his chest —so very human— then up to the line of his jaw, to his kiss-reddened mouth, to eyes that stared back at him with a combination of heat and vulnerability that was breathtaking. 

Aziraphale was still very much clothed, and did not want to be. He took off his own jacket, draping it neatly across the back of a chair, then tugged at his bow tie.

“Come here, please.” Crowley held out a hand. “I would really enjoy doing that for you.”

Aziraphale crossed the room in a few steps, slid a hand into that flame-colored hair, and kissed him. The next thing he knew, he was completely naked.

“Oops.” Crowley skimmed cool hands down Aziraphale’s sides. “Guess I got excited.”

Aziraphale reached down and took his cock in hand. “I can see that.”

“Fuck, Angel. You’re full of surprises.” 

“I’m surprising myself, to be honest.”

Crowley looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. He pressed their foreheads together instead, and looked down between their bodies. “I wondered what sort of effort you’d make.” 

“That appeared all on its own one night. I thought it simplest just to keep it.” His cock hardened under the attention, and the sensation drew a hiss from between his teeth. It was a sound he was fairly certain he’d never made in his entire existence.

Crowley made a soft, desperate noise and kissed him again, pulled him onto the bed. Their thighs slotted together as they pressed skin-to-skin, the heat building between them already. Aziraphale had a brief moment of apprehension that he might be crushing Crowley beneath him, but Crowley’s hands slid across his back and pulled him down even more tightly.

“What did you dream about, that night?” Crowley asked, voice low and rough. 

“You… on your knees, sucking me.” It was the sort of thing he couldn’t have imagined himself saying a few weeks ago without stammering.

“I think I’ve had that dream too.” 

Aziraphale grinned down at him, possibly even leered. “I hear that sometimes dreams come true.”

“I think I can make that happen.” Crowley pushed at his shoulder hard enough to roll them over. He sat up, straddling Aziraphale’s hips, and smiled down at him. Crowley’s face was flushed in a way Aziraphale had never seen, and his expression almost tender. 

“Dear boy,” Aziraphale said, reaching up to cup his hand against Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley turned his head, pressed a soft kiss against his palm, then looked at him again with an astonishing amount of heat in his eyes. He leaned over Aziraphale’s body and dragged his tongue down the center of his chest. 

It was so much already, licentious and decadent, but tender in a way Aziraphale hadn’t expected. He ought to look away lest he embarrass himself by finishing before it even started, but had to watch, to see Crowley’s face and his eyes and that tongue working its way ever closer to where Aziraphale desperately wanted it. 

Crowley settled between his spread thighs and looked up at him, so wanton and filthy that Aziraphale whimpered. 

Crowley’s breath ghosted over sensitive skin. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” 

“Go on, then.” 

Aziraphale let his head fall back against the mattress as Crowley’s tongue flickered up the underside of his cock. He teased around the head and Aziraphale shifted his hips up without even meaning to, just trying to chase the sensation.

Crowley chuckled and pressed him back down against the bed. “I’m driving right now, Angel. You just lie there and enjoy it.”

His cock was suddenly engulfed in wet, tight heat. Aziraphale grabbed handfuls of the duvet, needing to ground himself against the onslaught of sensation. Crowley’s mouth was a wonder, moving in ways he hadn’t thought possible. His tongue was everywhere at once, so soft and wet. Crowley took him in deeply over and over, deep enough that Aziraphale could feel himself in the tightness of Crowley’s throat.

“You all right up there, Angel?” Crowley asked a few minutes later. He stroked Aziraphale’s cock slowly with his hand.

Aziraphale nodded, eyes still tightly closed. If he looked down at Crowley now, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t last another minute. 

“You can make noise, you know.” Crowley kissed the inside of his thigh, his soft belly, then licked across the head of his cock. “You have no idea how much I want to hear you.”

“Yes, I, okay.” Aziraphale panted, squirming beneath him. 

Crowley’s mouth descended on him again, this time in concert with his hand stroking and twisting.

Aziraphale did not have difficulty making noise. 

He didn’t last much longer, either, coming in Crowley’s mouth with a cry that he’d be embarrassed to recall later. Crowley kept his mouth on him, sucking gently until Aziraphale had to push him away, suddenly oversensitive.

Crowley climbed up his body again, settling against him. His mouth was wet and his hair wild, and he looked as happy as Aziraphale had ever seen him. “Angel, you are _delicious_.” 

“Come here.” Aziraphale pulled him down into a kiss, twining his fingers into that hair and holding on for dear life. He could taste himself in Crowley’s mouth — the intimacy of it was astonishing. “Oh, dear. I was a bit rude, wasn’t I? I didn’t ask if it was all right.”

“If what?”

“To, er, come in your mouth.” That had always been a Big Deal in the romances he’d read.

“S’fine.” Crowley laughed into his throat. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” His cock was hard against Aziraphale’s belly, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do anything about it. He kissed Aziraphale lazily, gently, and breathed into his skin until Aziraphale felt like he was floating.

Crowley should feel like that too, as soon as possible. Aziraphale had waited long enough to get his hands on him. 

He pushed Crowley over onto his back. “Now, what can I do for you?” His hand trailed down Crowley’s body until he could tease the dark hair at the base of his cock with gentle fingertips.

“Anything. Everything.” Crowley groaned. “Actually, I don’t want to wait that long. Touch me?”

“Like this?” Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around the shaft and stroked, slowly. 

“Almost,” Crowley said, and suddenly Aziraphale’s hand was slick. “There we are.”

Aziraphale smirked. “Did you just miracle up some lube, really?”

“You say that like it’s not something I do every day.”

“You masturbate every day?” Aziraphale couldn’t help giggling at that. “I thought I was the hedonist between us.”

“You want to go a little faster there, Angel?”

“Whatever you need, dear.” 

Crowley’s cock was long, and thin enough that Aziraphale could easily wrap his fingers around the shaft. Aziraphale wondered what it would feel like in his mouth, inside his body. The skin was soft under his fingers, and the sight of the head disappearing into his fist over and over, punctuated by the lewd sounds of wet skin sliding together, was mesmerizing. 

Crowley made a soft sound and Aziraphale turned to look at his face again.

“Darling, is this—”

“Tighter,” Crowley said, head thrown back now, eyes closed. 

Aziraphale watched waves of tension and pleasure move over his features, marveled at how exquisitely expressive he was, showing all of it on his face and with the soft sounds he made. 

“Tell me,” Aziraphale said, speeding up the pace of his strokes. “Tell me how to make you come.”

“Just like that, keep— yeah, _fuck_.”

“You have no idea how good you look right now,” Aziraphale whispered. “Breathtaking. Erotic. Beautiful.”

“Angel—” Crowley shuddered beneath him, arching up, and came in Aziraphale’s hand. He pressed a hand over his face after, but Aziraphale could still see the lovely flush on his cheeks. 

Aziraphale waved the mess away and settled along Crowley’s side. “Was it good?”

Crowley snorted. “Do you really have to ask?” 

He had a point. Aziraphale watched him for a few moments, taking in every detail: the sweat beaded on his forehead, the flush of his cheek, the swell of his lips. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the sigil under Crowley’s ear, half-expecting it to sting his lips. It didn’t. 

Aziraphale propped himself up on one elbow and grinned down at him, almost giddy now. “I love you, you know. I have done for ages. I suppose I never thought I could tell you.”

Crowley turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around him, pulled their bodies tightly together. He pressed his face into Aziraphale’s throat. “I… same, I suppose. Since before any of this happened.”

“Would you ever have admitted it?” 

“Probably not. Self-denial is so much more demonic, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale poked his ribs, teasing, until Crowley looked up at him. “I can think of quite a few supposedly demonic behaviors that I could engage in with a completely clean conscience.” 

“Such as?” 

Crowley’s expression of intrigue shifted to annoyance as he glanced down towards his feet, where Nina head-butted him, demanding attention. Once she had it, she gave them both very judgmental looks. 

“Go on, you. You’re not allowed on the bed, remember?”

She extended one back leg high into the air, then licked her own arsehole.

“Oh, for the love of— We’ll have to lock her out of the bedroom if we’re to have any privacy.”

“Poor dear. She’s so sweet.”

“She really isn’t.” 

“She’s a baby.”

“A baby _demon_. Honestly, Angel, there are entire books written about the true nature of cats. Surely you’ve come across one in the last few millennia.”

Aziraphale kissed his shoulder instead of arguing the point. “She was very worried about you, you know. As was I. I’m glad you came back.”

“Well, if I’d known this would be waiting for me” —he grabbed a handful of Aziraphale’s arse— “I’d never have left.”

Aziraphale bit him, and got a swat on the arse for it. Encouraged, he bit Crowley again.

Crowley laughed, and they tussled a bit before settling down once more, Aziraphale’s head pillowed on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“You know,” Crowley said, stroking his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, “I’ve got a bottle of a second-growth Bordeaux from the late 80s in the cupboard.”

“Hmmm. It’s probably nearly peaked.” 

“If I go get it, will you promise to stay naked in my bed while we drink it?”

“I think,” Aziraphale remarked, nuzzling under his jaw, “that I will remain naked in your bed for the foreseeable future. If you’ll have me.”

Crowley attempted a leer, but it was tempered by the love Aziraphale could feel emanating from his very skin. “I’ll have you, Angel. You can be sure of that.”

Aziraphale chuckled, stroked his cheek with a thumb. “Are you sure you’re all right? I mean, with all the new… feelings?”

Crowley didn’t brush the question aside, as Aziraphale had expected. He considered for a moment, and didn’t look away. “Not yet, to be honest. But I think I will be.”

“It’s not so bad, really. Being good.”

“I’m not good.” Crowley scowled, but it was mostly for show.

“I disagree. Your mouth in particular is _very_ good.”

Crowley’s expression was as close to smitten as Aziraphale could have ever imagined. “I love you.”

“See?” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him softly, sweetly, but with a promise of things to come. “So fucking good.”

+++

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated! You can find me on Twitter @emmagrant_01 and occasionally on Tumblr @emmagrant01


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